Page 202 of Plaything

We watched the headlights of Odette’s car as it neared, easing my nerves for the first time in an hour. The four of us eagerly left the porch, ready to comfort her however she needed. Before the car was even entirely to a stop, Vincent quickly exited, putting his hands up while signaling us to stop. “Wait,” he cautioned.

“Vincent, get out of the way,” Dominic sent him a stern look, still trying to walk around him.

“Give me 30 seconds, then you can wake her up,” he rushed. Earlier, he said there was something she didn’t know, something he didn’t want her to hear.

I looked around him, trying to see her in the passenger seat. The headlights were blinding, and I couldn’t see past them.

We stood before him, impatiently waiting for him to explain, crossed arms and blank scowls.

Vincent’s eyes met each of us as he gently shook his head. “Just try not to freak out because what I’m going to tell you is disgustingly upsetting—”

“25... 24... 23...” Aiden counted, urging him to cut to the fucking chase.

“We were all at the Whitlock house having a meeting with Charles. He was already pissed off because business isn’t going as planned,” he prefaced. “Odette comes in. Charles wasn’t expecting her, but he said he’d be back in a few minutes, and the two of them went to his office.” He took a breath. “His office door is basically soundproof, but we heard... banging like he punched his desk or a piece of furniture fell,” he cringed while shaking his head. “Obviously, a couple of Charles’ staff and I went to knock and make sure everything was okay. Then we heard her screaming—”

“Screaming?” I repeated, my stomach twisting as I moved to walk past him. I needed to see her.

Vincent caught me by the arm. “He beat the shit out of her,” he deadpanned. “We tried to kick the fucking door open, but the fucker wouldn’t budge—”

“Her father?” Niko tried to clarify in disbelief. His voice was gut-wrenchingly sad as he said the two words.

“Twenty minutes later, he opened the door and walked out. He dropped some paperwork on the floor, and when he saw his partners, he—I don’t want to repeat it, but he told them they could have her—”

“Repeat it,” Aiden ordered, his tone wavering on lethal.

Vincent clenched his jaw while averting his eyes. “There’s a whore in my office if you men would like to take turns,” he didn’t look at any of us as he said the sickening words. “She doesn’t know he said that... she was unconscious on the floor when I got to her,” he added under his breath.

Every muscle in my body was locked stiff. The range of emotions was vast, and they all hit at once. All I could do was stare at him in disbelief. I was a grown man, and I was scared to open that passenger door to even see what he did to her. Charles was easily three times her size. I couldn’t imagine someone of his size throwing punches at a woman, especially someone as delicate as Odette.

There was nothing she could have done that would provoke a violent response from a man of his... class.

“If Anthony and I weren’t there—”

“Thank you,” I breathed out, insanely grateful that Vincent just happened to be there and carry a handgun.

The sound of the car door opening caught my attention. It had only just cracked and was slowly beginning to open.

For the second time today, I ran. I ran until I was standing in front of the open door. I heard the others behind me, but the world went quiet when my eyes locked on Odette.

My first and only thought upon seeing her was: give Dominic the keys.

She was obviously discombobulated as her shaken hand tried to unbuckle the belt; the other had a death grip on a paper folder. Her delicate features were covered in bruises and scrapes. A purple bruise formed under her left eye; it’d be blackened by morning. Her cheeks were slightly red and swollen, with small scrapes on her cheekbones. There was dried blood on her cheeks and the corner of her mouth.

Her hair was disheveled like it’d been yanked—I was sure it had. Vincent’s suit jacket was draped backward over her shoulders, covering her front. I assumed she got cold.

It was a horror show I couldn’t look away from. It physically pained me to see her look so broken. Every time I noticed another bruise, my gut gnarled. Even so, I found myself slowly reaching over and pressing down on the buckle that her hand was too weak to press.

That was when she noticed us, finally turning so we could see her entire face. She was already crying, but more tears flowed as she stared at us, probably burning the cuts on her cheeks.

Needing to touch and hold her, I went to grab the folder from her and move it out of the way so I could remove the coat that covered her.

The death grip she had didn’t lessen, and I knew that whatever was in the folder was the reason she went tonight. She held onto it like a lifeline, scared to let it out of her grasp. She was in shock.

I’d always been good with words; I always knew what to say and (more importantly) how to say it. Standing before the woman I loved, I had absolutely no words that I could comfort her with. I could tell her how sorry I was, how much it pained me to see her like this, or how murderous I felt against Charles. None of that would change what happened.

“Odette,” I said just above a whisper, placing my hand over her clenched fist.

Her grip loosened at the calmness of my tone (I was putting on a convincing act because I was anything but calm), and I took it, handing it to whoever grabbed it behind me. I slowly pulled down the jacket, revealing her open blouse and purple bruises covering her stomach. The buttons were either ripped off or hanging by a thread, exposing her bra and entire torso.

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